When my friend Ron was going through his late mother’s photo albums, he turned up this gem. His mother was a 13-year old girl living in Ottawa in 1939. When King George VI and Queen Elizabeth (The Queen Mother) dedicated the National War Memorial on May 21st, 1939, they would be within’ a few blocks of his mother’s home. It is at the dedication we think this picture was taken (the clothes are the same from the pictures of the dedication and the Queen is carrying the same book).

Berkeley Breathed has decided to do new Bloom County’s. The news leaked last night, and from what I can make out, it will be digital only, and may only be available on his Facebook page, although I’m guessing it will eventually appear elsewhere. But for now, if your on Facebook, follow Breathed and get your daily Bloom County in your Facebook feed.

Kanye West can’t write, sing or play. So I have trouble with him as anything but a poser. Produce? That means he sits in a chair while the engineer does the work. He’s a poser!

Kanye meanwhile, headlined Glastonbury where he butchered - as in hog tied, slit the throat of and left to drain blood on the floor in agony - Queens Bohemian Rhapsody.

Earlier, modesty getting the better of him, Kanye declared himself the “greatest living rock star on the planet,” proving quite conclusively he doesn’t have a better side.

Later, Pete Townsend of The Who, closing out Glastonbury, told the audience, “we’re going to send you home now with a rebellious “Oh yea? Who’s the biggest fucking rock star in the world?”

As for The Who, Townsend told the crowd from the stage:

I think I will stop after this year. We’re lucky we’re not in some old people’s home… even this particular gang can grow old, not necessarily gracefully but can grow old ungracefully — or whatever it is we’re doing.

Last month Daltrey scolded a fan at a concert for smoking a joint, so “we’re too old for this,” is hardly surprising. And by “this,” I mean anything whatsoever.

I’ve said before that entertainment reporters are the laziest people on earth. “Oh my, typing out Brad and Angelina is too much effort, lets make it Brangelina,” they will bore entire dinner parties saying. “Why type 15 letters when 10 will do?” Talk about a group that needs to get on a by-the-word pay scale.

The most annoying of these shortcuts, by far, is Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner being called Bennifer. It’s not just lazy, but it’s also not original, being the lame nickname given to Affleck and Jennifer Lopez. Seriously, you can’t even come up with something new and original to save yourself keying in those five whole letters?

So you can imagine how exciting I found the headline this week, “Bennifer no more!” Unfortunately, this wasn’t a directive from entertainment editors, or a promise from the reporters to get on their lazy ass and type out whole names. Rather, it was the unfortunate news that after ten-years of marriage and three children, Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner have split up. In a released statement, the couple said they were divorcing, but will “go forward with love and friendship for one another and a commitment to co-parenting our children…”

Hollywood divorces are rarely surprising, in that it’s the almost default expectation in Hollywood. But Affleck and Garner are two very public figures who have managed to maintain a relationship and marriage largely outside of the public eye. So while the divorce announcement is not surprising, it is sad and a bit disappointing.

Chris Squire (1948-2015)

After a period of unwellness - stomach ailments, weight loss, extreme fatigue - Yes bassist Chris Squire was diagnosed with acute erythroid leukemia in March. Last Saturday, Just a few months later, Squire passed away at 67.

Squire was the only member of Yes to perform on every tour and every album, from it’s founding in 1968 until this year. His bass playing was distinctive and often brilliant. Rather than play the bottom end of chords, giving tone to the bass drum, as so many other bass players do, Squire played counter-melodic lines, more in a baroque style than standard rock. His Rickenbacker basses had a big sound which was a significant contributor to Yes’s signature sound. He will go down as one of the very best bassist in history, and by one of the best, I do mean top three.

He performed on 21 Yes albums, plus two solo works. In August, Yes will perform for the first time ever without Chris Squire at bass. Personally, I loved Yes and Squire was a big reason why. Whenever you listened to Yes, you often came away with the bass line running through your head, something you can’t say about many other bands.

Rest in Peace Chris Squire, a brilliant bassist and by all accounts, a very decent man.

All the fluffy news about those nutty celebrities

Oh this is exciting. Hot off the news that Guy Ritchie is busy casting for a King Arthur movie comes word some movie execs are trying to put together a spy movie featuring all five former James Bonds.

Sean Connery (aka Sir), George Lazenby, Roger Moore, Timothy Dalton and Pierce Bronson - ages ranging from 62-year old Bronson to 82-year old Moore - have apparently been approached about appearing in the The Expendables style spy movie.

Word is Moore is game, but Connery is not interested. “I don’t think he (Connery) wants to be associated with Bond anymore,” Moore told Britain’s Sun newspaper.

We have a new child star with trouble. Jake Lloyd, who played young Anakin Skywalker in Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace (otherwise known as Star Wars IV) found himself in legal trouble this week.

Driving through Charleston South Carolina like he was Podracing on Tatooine, an officer noted he seemed to be driving erratically. Seeing the police lights behind him, Lloyd made like he was in the Boonta Eve Classic and took off. Pursuit ensued, ending only when Lloyd lost control of his podracer, er car, and crashed through a fence and into several trees.

Needless to say, Lloyd didn’t get off with a warning and was arrested on charges of reckless driving, failure to stop, resisting arrest and driving without a licence. As of this writing, he remained in custody.

Tweets from Yoko (A new Fluffernutter Feature): “Imagine letting a goldfish swim across the sky. Let it swim from the West to the East. Drink a liter of water.”

“I’m not funny, can’t sing, not much of an actor and I look like I probably smell pretty bad,” Russell Brand might well have said to the left-wing anti-democracy protestors in London Saturday. “But I still feel pretty much responsible for the voting patterns of 64-million people”

The crowd responds with a roar and a chant of “stick it to the rich,” until someone notices the obvious. “Hey,” he yells, pointing at Brand, “he’s rich.”

“I’ve got a stick,” yells another,

“So do I,” yells another. And so did they all. So it came to pass the Russell Brand ran form the stage, angrily pursued by the only group on earth truly stupid enough to care who Russell Brand is or what he says.

note: the above is, as Hollywood says, “based on an historical event.” If you want to see the most heartwarming video you will ever see, the YouTube video of Brand being chased away by his people, the anti-austerity protestors in London last week will restore your faith in humanity.

Polkaroo, whose real name is Sean Combs (we think) was arrested at UCLA’s training complex for suspicion of assault with a deadly weapon, the deadly weapon being the kettle-ball. P. Diddly-Doo’s son, Justin Combs is a defensive back for UCLA’s football team, who have been working out at the facility.

No word on the identity of the victim, or motive for the assault, however the betting board here at Fluffernutter World Headquarters is that someone mistook Combs for H.R. Puffinstuff.

Bill Wyman’s new album, Back to Basics, starts promising enough, a nice groove song called What & How & If & When & Why. It sounds solid, and so promising. Then at the twenty-four second mark, Alfie Doolitle with laryngitis starts speaking into the big recording machine, and you wonder what’s happening. What’s happening is Bill Wyman is singing - if by singing you mean whispering hoarsely in a cockney accent.

And that’s about it for Back to Basics. It’s chock full of decent songs, most notably, but not exclusively, Seventeen and I Got Time. Yet Wyman hasn’t the voice to carry a song all the way through, never mind an entire album. It’s a pity, because there’s something here, and it could be good: but it’s not.

As Newspapers cut back, editors are one of the easy places to cut, A good editor doesn’t just correct spelling and grammar, but they cut extraneous words. If it’s repetitive or unnecessary, out it goes. Case in point, The National Post article, Rachel Dolezal’s Fall From Grace, by Robyn Ur­back,

Her self-identification as black, thus, has basically no foundation in her biological reality.

See, a good editor would have trimmed this to the more accurate: “Her self-identification as black, thus, has no foundation in reality.”

Of course what Urback is doing is, to use Mark Steyn’s phrase, “a palpable bet-hedging.” The Steyn phrase is from a piece today called Tweet of Clay, and the bit about bet-hedging is not the highlight. This line is:

More and more levers of civilization appear to be in the hands of the clinically insane.

It’s a line I use nowadays when people start talking politics. Right. left, conservative, liberal, Party A, Party B, it’s irrelevant. I let people bitch from whatever side they argue from, and eventually I say, “It’s because they’re all nuts. Every one of them is actually, literally crazy.” It never fails, whatever they are complaining about, can be explained easily by “they’re all, literally, crazy.”

The reason it works is because, I’m becoming more and more convinced, it’s 100% true. Never mind Mark Steyn’s little “bet-hedging,” he almost right: More and more levers of civilization are in the hands of the clinically insane.

When you make a list of great albums of the rock era, Bob Seger’s first studio album with The Silver Bullet Band, Night Moves, inevitably will get a mention. As Capital Records is releasing Night Moves in 180-gram vinyl today, it seems like a good time to evaluate that contention.

In Night Moves opening track, Rock and Roll Never Forgets Seger sings, “all of Chuck’s children are out there, playing his licks.” Seger is foreshadowing, Night Moves being, if nothing else, a Chuck Berry influenced album. The Fire Down Below, Sunspot Baby, Come to Papa, Mary Lou and Rock and Roll Never Forgets itself, all are, to one degree or another, excellent examples of “Chuck’s children playing his licks.”

But while Night Moves is a great rock and roll album, it is marked by it’s acoustic/slower songs, especially two: Night Moves and Mainstreet. Both are coming of age songs, the first about teen romance in the back of a car, the latter a few years later, a young adult crush on a lady no mother would approve of. Night Moves is Seger’s signature song, the one that gets compared, fairly, to Hotel California or Jungleland, It is the biggest hit of a career of memorable hits, while Mainstreet may be the most romantic song ever written about a stripper.

Soundwise, the 180-gram version of Night Moves is excellent. I’m not sure if it has been remastered, or they are using the famous late-90’s Punch Andrews remaster. However, the sound is excellent, with instrument separation being clear. If you’ve never really heard the organ on top of Night Moves, the funky James Brown rhythm guitar in Come to Papa, the acoustic guitar in Mainstreet, it is a treat.

If you’re re-buying all those old albums you got rid of when you bought a CD player, Night Moves in 180-gram vinyl is an album you want. If your Dad is re-buying all his old albums, kids, I guarantee you he will like this one for Father’s Day. And if your a hipster that has cleaned out the Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd section of your local record store and are wondering what you should get next, Night Moves should be next.

There’s something I’ve always wondered about Meatloaf’s phenomenal debut album, Bat out of Hell: what did the session guys (and what session guys!) think when they first heard the complete album? In my minds eye, when Roy Bitten or Max Weinberg recorded their part, they showed up, laid down the basic track, took their cheque and went on their way. Meanwhile, Jim Steinman, Meatlaof and producer Todd Rundgeren went to work adding overdubs, layering vocals and building what would become the final album. One day a few months later a record company courier shows up at the door with the finished product. You put the record on, sit down to hear what you’ve created and… holy crap!

The album opens with rockin’ piano song, but a guitar that rumbles like a motorcycle has been added, and this guy is singing about dying in a spectacular crash, and there’s a virtual choir of background vocals, and so much going on. This is sophisticated, and smart and dark, and this flat out rocks. And you wonder if Roy Bitten, sitting in his living room with his wife, stared at her in disbelief as she said, “what is this?”

Or maybe he hates the album and always has, what do I know?

The thing is, though, it is all those things I mentioned. When it was released in 1976 it hit like a bomb dropping on the scene. I was in grade 9 when Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad was atop the CHUM Chart , and I can tell you, we were blown away. It was so intense, and so different than anything we had heard before. This wasn’t just good, it was mesmerizing. It was also, that summer and for too many after, inescapable. It was everywhere. I have danced/acted out Paradise by the Dashboard Light at too many weddings, with too many rye and gingers flooding my bloodstream. And so, due to overexposure, Bat out of Hell stopped getting played. I own the CD, but I wonder if I’ve listened to it half a dozen times - it certainly never got transferred to my iPod until recently.

So not having listened to the entire album in years, possibly as much as 20, I was once again blown away by how good it is. How strong the songwriting, how good the vocals, how dramatic the performances?

During the early days of Bat out of Hell, before it was a successful album - before anyone thought it might be a successful album, Meatloaf played the CBS convention (his record company) in New Orleans. The hall filled with record company employees, he played the entire album, finishing, as the album does with For Crying Out Loud. For Crying Out Loud is a beautiful ballad, that builds and grows and conjures up so many emotions in eight-minutes. It wonderfully showcases both Meatloaf’s powerful voice and Steinman’s knack for dynamics and lyrics. It is incredibly dramatic and dynamic, and I can’t imagine being in a smallish room hearing it done right. Just after the six-minute mark, the piano drops off and Meatloaf sings a series of statements and responses. Piano and voice builds under the words:

For taking in the rain when I’m feeling dry
For giving me answers when I’m asking you why
And my ohh my
For that I thank you

For taking in the sun when I’m feeling I’m so cold
For giving me a child when my body is old
And don’t you know
for that I need you

For coming to my room when you know I’m alone
For finding me a highway and driving me home
And you gotta know
for that I serve you

For pulling me away when I’m starting to fall
For revving me up when I’m starting to stall
And all in all
For that I want you

For taking and for giving and for playing the game
For praying for my future in the days that remain
Oh Lord
for that I hold you

Ah but most of all
For cryin’ out loud
For that I love you

Ah but most of all
For cryin’ out loud
For that I love you

When you’re crying out loud
You know I love you

Singing it, Meatloaf closes his eyes and lets his voice, the words do their magic. By the time he’s done, there’s dead silence in the audience. “I had time enough to think this one thought: ‘They’ve all left.’” he writes in his autobiography.

They didn’t. Rather, their breath had been taken away, and the massive applause the performance deserved came about five seconds later. It was the night everything changed: Meatloaf went from being a minor act on the record company roster to a priority within the company: “Whether they hated Bat out of Hell with a passion or not, they finally got behind it,” he writes.

As an aside, notice two things about the words above lyrics. The “Oh Lord” after the line about praying. And how the focus changes in the last two lines from what she can does for him to what he can do for her: “When you’re crying out loud, you know I love you.” Two subtle touches that explain why Jim Steinman is a world famous songwriter, and I write blog posts about him.

From the opening growl to the final astounding vocal performance, Bat out of Hell is compelling and brilliant. You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth, Heaven Can Wait, All Revved Up With No Place to Go, passionate, beautiful, rock’n. Then there’s the mega-hits, the stunning romantic (sort of) ballad Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad, and the rock and roll story of teenage lust Paradise By the Dashboard Light.

It’s an album without a weakness, although Paradise’s familiarity sometimes feels like weakness. But from that opening piano to Meatloaf’s eyes-closed finale, that image of Roy Bittan getting his white label copy, dropping the needle for the first time, lingers.

All the fluffy news about those nutty celebrities

So last week I took a little tiny jab at the overwhelming media coverage of Bruce Jenner’s Caitlinization as Saint Caitlin. “I don’t do Kardashian stories,” I wrote. “That goes double this week.” What’s becoming clear is that little, and bad, joke would not pass the editors desk at any commercial media outlet (thank God nobody pays me for this). That, no matter how you splice it, is censorship.

Further, I give you Clint Eastwood, who was introducing “The Rock” at the laughably named 2015 Guys Choice Awards Saturday night in Los Angeles.The awards will air next week on - (snigger, giggle) - guys TV. Eastwood, by way of introduction, began to compare The Rock to other athletes turned actor: “Jim Brown and Caitlyn Somebody…” the old guy who doesn’t get what all the fuss is about said.

The cute as a button child-actress, now single soccer-mom, admitted in March she had a Tinder account. But, she now says, she gave it up after a few days suggesting it didn’t work out to well: “I certainly don’t think I will find the man of my dreams on it,” she now says.

No, to do that, you need to find a guy who can type the word “swipe” five times quickly.

I once was researching a 1969 Led Zeppelin concert that took place in Kitchener, Ontario. I was at the local university going through old copies of the student newspaper, and found a picture. Looking at it, the librarian said to me, “I think we have film of that concert.” My jaw dropped. This would be previously unknown movie of a concert of which there is no known visual or audio documentation. It would be a stunning find. She took my phone number promising to see if she could find it, and that was the last I heard of it. Presumably the librarian was mistaken and the film doesn’t exist (a likely scenario). But still…

Now imagine how many multiples of that feeling when a librarian at the University of New Brunswick, hired to digitize the library’s Science Fiction collection, found an early “fourth draft” of the Star Wars script. Unlibrarian-like language of the kind that would make a Spike TV executive blush was sure to be uttered.

It seems as though some Hollywood elite is starting to get that the current climate of speech rules has negative consequences for their business. This week Jerry Seinfeld, a giant in the comedy business, explained how the traditional campus circuit is no longer a gig comedians enjoy:

I hear a lot of people tell me, ‘don’t go near colleges. They’re so PC.’

Jon Gabriel then wrote a piece about the “Progressive Comedy Pause,” that gap between the punchline and the laugh while the listener processes the joke to decide it’s not offensive, before he laughs at it.

Interestingly, Salon then wrote a humourless piece on white guys like Seinfeld getting to decide what is or isn’t offensive, and cited a list of comedians who not so much manage to be offensive, as much as they manage to amuse Salon without offending. “Tell safe jokes and you have nothing to worry about,” Salon seemed to be saying.

Which, these easily offended folks never seem to get, is the point.

It’s hard to imagine that Fagan should outlive the Artful Dodger, but in terms of Lionel Bart’s movie version of Oliver! that’s what happened. The Dodger, aka HR Puffinstuff’s Jack Wild, died 9-years ago in 2006. Ron Moody, who played Fagan, passed Thursday, aged 91.

Moody was a veteran British TV and stage actor, Fagan being just his most memorable role. It is rumored, in fact, that he turned down the role of Dr. Who. For that we here at Fluffernutter world headquarters have nothing but respect. It’s one thing to pick a pocket or two, but dignity must be left intact.

Rest in Peace Ron Moody, 1924-2015.

Yes, yes, we get it. Someone from The Lord of the Rings died this week. A seven decade movie career and late in life multi-language, multi album gig as a Heavy Metal singer and all anyone can do is post pictures of Christopher Lee in full Saruman getup.

The man WAS A BOND VILLIAN. Sheesh, some people need to get a grip.

Here’s what you need to know: he was Scaramonga, the man with the Golden Gun in the 1974 movie of the same title. He had a duel, a duel! on the beach with James Bond. Pistols on an unsteady surface, and no need for a big white beard.

Two-hundred and seventy-eight IMDB credits, and all people remember is Lord of the Rings. what’s wrong with people?

I’ve noticed this aspect of these stories before, the Chief being the guy who makes the bust. It tells us something when the guy who’s supposed to be the voice of reason is the lunatic in the story. You get it when some overzealous rookie straight out of the academy wants to be a by the book guy. His Chief or the Sheriff should be the voice of experience, telling him to leave the seven-year olds alone!

And all those people offering a “wave of support,” you should be at the police station demanding a resignation or setting up your own lemonade stand on your own driveway. It’s alway the kids who seem to get it, disobeying the stupid law is the solution:

The Green sisters said they plan to take advantage of a loophole and set up their lemonade stand again this Saturday, only they’ll be giving their treats away for free and accept donations.

Hespeler, our little village on the river (really a town, but our Mayor is not really a Mayor either - that’s just how it rolls here) has been converted into Lisbon Falls Maine, in October 1960, for the shooting of Stephen Kings 11/22/63.

Vote Kennedy

No wait... Vote Nixon

The movie stars sworn enemy of Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, James Franco, and yes ladies, he has been spotted in town - as has Stephen King.

Shooting occurred on Monday, with Tuesday scheduled and Wednesday as the rain day. However, weather forecasts for the week forced them to move their second shooting day to Thursday, Then they rebuild the village. It is actually, a massive undertaking, and it’s been fun and impressive for everyone to watch.

All the fluffy news about those nutty celebrities

It was a dark and stormy night. The gates of the Bayside Prison for Men were locked, and officer Belding was doing the rounds of Cell Block D. Suddenly the quiet was disturbed by a Screech coming from the shower.

A prisoner suddenly appeared and sprinted down the hall.

“Morris, slow down. No running in the cell block,” called out officer Belding.

“Sorry sir,” Zach Morris responded, as he slowed to a quick walk until he was around the corner, where he picked up his sprint again. He made it to the showers in time to see Screech, his long time friend, with his pants around his ankles. Max, an inmate so large he was referred to as ‘The Max’ was holding a bar of soap and unzipping his prison fatigues. “Put down that soap,” Zach yelled.

He didn’t. Instead, five other large prisoners stepped out from the shadows. “Oh look Kapowski,” the one with the soap said to Screech. “Your buddy Spano is here.”

Zach was grabbed by two inmates and thrown into the showers, banging his head off the shower knob. Lying on the wet floor, he looked directly into the camera and said, “I kind of wish Mario Lopez had agreed to this reunion show right now. This isn’t going to end well.”

“This isn’t going to end well” is exactly what I thought when I heard that Dustin Diamond, aka Saved By The Bell’s Screech Powers, could be sentenced to prison time for his part of a bar fight last December.

Screech, err Diamond, allegedly stabbed Casey Smet in the hand. This week he was convicted of misdemeanour charges of disorderly conduct and carrying a concealed weapon. He could face up to a year in prison for the two offences (nine months for the weapon offence, 90 days for the disorderly conduct).

It’s one thing to be the toughest guy in a bar fight in Santa Monica. It’s a whole other issue going to prison with a bunch of guys who grew up watching you as Screech in Saved By The Bell.

This isn’t going to end well, indeed.

It’s a longstanding Fluffernutter rule: I don’t do Kardashian stories in any way, shape or form.

That goes double this week.

This months Forbes magazine has a list of America’s Richest Self-Made Women. The cover features Jessica Alba, whose company The Honest Company is evaluated at $1-billion, with revenue of $10-million. Alba herself is said to be worth about $200-million.

“Hope I die before I get old,” Roger Daltrey sang in 1965. Fast forward 50-years and last week at a concert in Long Island, Daltrey threatened to walk off stage if someone smoking a joint up front didn’t put the joint out. One wonders if his specific request used the line “get off the grass!”? Pete Townsend, writer of the above line, followed Daltrey’s threat with a suggestion the offending pot smoker take his medication in suppository form. It’s like Grumpy Old Men 3: the Rock and Roll Tour™.

“How the hell am I supposed to hear myself sing with you people clinking your ice-cubes around in your glass?” Frank Sinatra never yelled at his audience. Sinatra died at 82 and performed until about a year before his death, when heart problems, bladder cancer and dementia forced him to stop performing. The smell of scotch never becoming an issue with Frank, even as he was dying of what was basically old age, Sinatra never seemed quite as old as The Who’s lead singer. Daltrey, now 71, for the last several years has kept his light, curly hair cut short and wears small colored glasses, looking more like your Granny than Tommy.

But the Who came of age when Sinatra was middle aged. They cut their teeth the 60’s in front of the stoned hippies and cemented their reputations in the 70’s in front the of the hippies ever more stoned brothers and sisters. Smoking a joint was as much a part of the experience as the music was.

Here’s another Townsend penned line that Daltrey sang:

long live rock, be it dead or alive.

When rock has been reduced to a nostalgic hippy paying $100 to have Roger Daltrey’s granny yell at him to get off the grass, then it has lived long - long past it’s dead date.

Sammy Hagar and the Circle, featuring Hagar, his old pal Van Halen bassist Michael Anthony, Led Zeppelin’s Jason Bonham, and guitarist Vic Johnson take a roll through Hagar’s career, with some Led Zeppelin added in for good measure, in the new live album At Your Service. Recorded at various shows during last years fall tour, At Your Service covers Hagar’s solo material, his Montrose years as well as 80’s era Van Halen (in a nod to both Hagar and Anthony).

The Circle is a band of solid professionals who all know their business. There is nothing here that’s not very well done. Whatever era of Hagar - or Led Zeppelin - you are a fan of, you will be pleased by the performances of those songs. There is no weak points or performances here.

The album features four Led Zeppelin songs, and aside from Good Times Bad Times having a bit of an 80’s feel to it, they are performed excellently. Hagar is, perhaps a bit surprisingly, a good singer of Led Zeppelin.

The highlight of the album however is the final track, when Hagar and Johnson take a seat for an acoustic arrangement of Van Halen’s Dreams, from 5150. Stripped of Eddie Van Halen’s keyboards and pyrotechnic guitar licks, it’s an extremely pretty song.

Sammy Hagar and the Circle’s At Your Service is a very enjoyable live recording that is both worth having and makes you hope this particular lineup continues to tour, and that they come to a town near me soon.